


Of Cosmic Cat Ladies and Charlie Brown

by nextraordinaire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempt at Humor, Bathtubs, Children's TV, Handcuffs, M/M, Nostalgia, Organized Crime, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextraordinaire/pseuds/nextraordinaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Charles Xavier finds himself, with help of cosmic intervention, handcuffed to Erik Lehnsherr: the hitman assigned to kill him three weeks ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Cosmic Cat Ladies and Charlie Brown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [widgenstain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/gifts).



> This fic began as something close to your prompt, widge, but then it started to careen - and ended up somewhere else _entirely_. I apologize for that. In your Dear Secret Mutant letter, you mentioned that deviations were allowed, so I hope this fulfills some of your hopes! 
> 
> It has been an honor to write for you, and well - enjoy!

They stumbled into the freezing room, panting, exhausted and covered in blood.

Even after an uneventful check-in, Charles’ heart still beat hard enough to make his ribcage ache. Neither the receptionist nor the cleaning lady had spared him nor Erik a glance as they rushed through the lobby, beaten and bloody like two fighting dogs.  And now, Charles could feel the strain of his excessive mental shielding. His neck felt tight and stiff, the muscles knotted tight. Shielding two minds on an empty stomach had made him cranky. Matters weren't helped by his waning adrenaline high that left him shaky and hollowed-out.

Behind him, Erik slammed the door shut with a sudden _yank-stretch-twist_ of his arm.

“ _Fuck_! Goddamn it, Erik!”

With a grunt and a swiftness that only came from repeated offenses, Erik let his arm go limp.  Charles sighed in relief and clenched his fingers to help the blood flow. All day, they’d ran through the sleety alleys with bullets whizzing around their ears and their lives on the line.  All day, Erik had dragged him along like a rag doll, pulling at his shoulder until nearly  popped out of its socket.

He shot Erik a dark look, rubbing at his poor aching shoulder. “So what do we do now? You’re the professional here,” he said, blinking blood-mixed melt out of his eyes. In the cold room, his breath came out as cloud.

Erik looked up from inspecting his Glock, frowning at a supposed scratch. On his cheekbone, a gash bled sluggishly. It looked deep enough to scar, and become yet another mark on that lean, strong body.

Charles almost reached out to wipe it with his thumb. But, when he didn't say anything, Erik's gaze sharpened.

“ _What_?” he said, twitchy and guarded.

“Shall we try to get this off, perhaps?” Charles bit back. “Or are you rather comfortable like this? Because I’m sure as hell is not.”

That earned him a flat look as Erik did put down the gun on the bed. “Come on then.”

Keeping a calculated distance between them, they shuffled into the bathroom. As the rest of the room, it was absolutely freezing. Charles suppressed a hiss as the skin of his hand made contact with the metal sink. To his left, Erik seemed as unaffected as usual. He was, after all, more used to this kind of thing.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights clinked as they stared at their problem. A problem that was, quite literally, at hand.

The impromptu handcuffs Essex’s henchman had spit onto their wrists were made of some sort of hardened slime. When it had first landed on them, it had been rubbery and wet. Almost immediately, it had adapted a plastic like structure. Now, they sat so tightly they seemed to have been all but absorbed by their skin as they linked them together with a five inch string that was more like a chain. A chain which had proven to be remarkably hard wearing.

Charles still didn’t know how it was possible, but nothing – neither bullets nor extreme force – had been able to tear, break or even make a scratch on it. The slime still sat there like a cruel, relentless joke.

“Are you absolutely sure there’s nothing we can do?” Charles said, looking at Erik out of the corner of his eye.

”Yes.”

”You have tried everything?”

“No,” Erik growled. “My powers don’t work.” He pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache coming on. Charles would've sympathized if his own head wasn’t splitting open. “They use her for my sake.”

“Fair enough,” Charles sighed, studying his face in the mirror. With his sparse beard clotted with blood and snow, eyes haggard and red, he looked as if he’d aged ten years in three weeks. Tearing his eyes from the reflection, he studied the damned cuffs again.

He tapped his finger against the edge of the sink. “We haven’t really tried cutting it. Do we have any sharp implements?”

”If you haven’t got something shoved up your ass, we don’t. Besides, if it didn't break on the fence, it won’t help. Unless you plan on chopping something off, of course.”

Erik would never know how close Charles came to punch him. He was ready,  muscles coiled, when he caught glimpse of the sharp jawline, intense eyes and a long line of throat – and  didn't.

“I’m not chopping anything off,” he muttered under his breath.

“Not desperate enough yet?” Erik countered, the annoyed clouds of his mind dispersing. His mouth curled into one of those tricky smiles that never failed to send a charge of something vicious and hot down Charles’ spine. Charges that he’d promptly ignored, had for two weeks, and would continue to for the rest of his life.

He shook his head and tore his eyes away.

“I’m plenty desperate,” he said a beat later.

“Are you now?”

Charles narrowed his eyes as a ray of honest to God mirth radiated from Erik’s mind. “This is funny to you?”

At that, Erik  raised a disdainful eyebrow. “You really want to discuss that now? You have nowhere to go now, Xavier.”

“Well, Trigger-Happy McGee, if it weren't for you, that wouldn't be a problem,” Charles said, and pointed a blood-smeared finger straight into Erik’s sternum so hard it creaked, finally letting out the frustration over the clusterfuck that now was his life.

-

How Charles had even managed to end up in said clusterfuck was actually not his fault. Some would claim otherwise, but to Charles, it was clear as day. The responsibility lay wholly on the cosmic trickster goddess, who'd hijacked his logic reasoning in a weakened state - and then used him for a bit of going-on-three-weeks afternoon fun.

Because, under normal circumstances, Charles would never have agreed to testify against Hellfire. It was madness through and through. And if you against all odds agreed, you shouldn’t do so without at least demanding your own security detail.

Unless you were completely mad.

Exhibit A: The shaking wreck of a suppressing-wearing Professor Charles Francis Xavier after a getting ruthlessly interrogated by Nick Fury to the point where he almost pissed himself in fear.

The agreement had been the first sign of cosmic interference. Warning sign two came when he’d honest to God believed himself safe from Shaw and his goons without said security detail. Not that WITSEC hadn’t done the best they could, but it required a certain kind of naivete to trust it would keep him safe until the trial against one of the biggest crime organizations in the country.

Blissfully unware of the previous witnesses ‘disappearances’, he’d moved.  One-way ticket to Arizona, all empty and relieved that he'd escaped death again.

Then he’d come home from work one day, stuck his key in the lock –

And found himself eye to eye with a gun suppressor and a professionally shielded mind.

Here, a luckier person would’ve been killed.

But as previously stated, Charles was not that person.

No, the cosmic powers were crueler than that. It was simply that they were cruel in a different way than what we usually associate the word. Instead of pure brutal power, like that found in sharks, they behaved more like cats – playful in the worst way possible. They made sure you felt the pain, dragged you through it with no mercy as they laughed. They flipped your life upside-down, only to raise a false sense of security before they threw in some near death experiences  to spice things up.

Thus, what saved Charles was none of the usual ways. He didn't manage to duck or run or call the police. Instead,  it was the simple fact that the hitman assigned to his case got a momentary moral crisis at the prospect of killing an innocent, extremely powerful mutant.

Now, this was definitely cosmic intervention. Despite what Charles being alive might suggest, Erik was good at what he did. Before Charles, he’d never hesitated at a kill in his life. His track record was flawless. He was efficient. He left no traces. He was invisible. In short, Erik was a rock when it came to his profession.

So there was no doubt that his hesitation had been a onetime thing, gifted to Charles from the cosmic cat lady. Erik had not hesitated a second longer than it took for Charles to knock him out with a sharp telepathic blast.

After that, she’d taken over his reasoning completely.

Charles had freaked out, as you do after an assassination attempt. Sweating like a pig in the New Mexican heat, he'd then contemplated whether he should kill Erik, or call the police.  He'd come to the decision he better not call.  After the ten minutes during which Erik had regained his consciousness, Charles had figured WITSEC had done all they could for him and that the only way he'd survive this farce was to let a grumpy, taciturn and at times nastily mean professional killer hold his six. Hence forcing said professional under threat of a complete mind wipe, to bring him from Arizona all the way back to New York City.

To Charles, that had seemed like a waterproof plan at the time. What he hadn't planned on, was for someone as good as Erik at offing people for cash, had such atrocious impulse control.

Something which had resulted in them sprinting for their lives, hands locked together with the Hellish slime-cousin of a Chinese finger trap while the better part of the rage-fueled Indianapolis branch of Hellfire chased after them with drawn plastic guns. And though the slime had helped them stick together through ordeal, they had also left Charles a spontaneous amputee in the process.

So, they had to go – whatever means needed.

-

“What do you think would've happened to you, hadn't I clipped him?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn't have discovered you,” Charles said. He flitted his eyes over the gash on Erik’s cheek where one of Essex’s bullets had grazed before he tore his eyes away.

Erik shook his head. “Well, you’d probably be brain dead, just so you know,” he said, voice low.  

It was so patronizing he could taste it, but there was still something laced around it. Something that Charles recognized. It was getting on his nerves, how easily Erik could get to him with his voice alone.

“So be it, but at least I wouldn't be stuck with you.” Charles shook his right hand for emphasis as he rummaged through the bathroom cabinet above the sink. “Maybe we can, I don’t know, corrode it with something?”

“You really do think they have strong acids lying around?”

“Bases work just as well.”

“Good luck finding that.”

As much as it bothered Charles to admit it, there was unfortunately such a thing as objective truth. Slamming the empty cabinet shut, he dealt the cuffs another dark look, trying to burn them away with his eyes alone.

In the mirror, Erik’s face was neutral, sharp jaw working in bursts. Almost as if he was holding something back while his indecipherable eyes glowed.

Just like his mind.

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m not,” Erik said, but damn it all if his mind wasn't shining like a lighthouse.

 _You’re thinking it_ , Charles shot back.

Erik let his face fall open into his trademark shark grin.

“It just amuses me,” he said, brushing a hand along the small of Charles' back  as he reached over to tear off a piece of toilet paper. “That you’re so averse to my company, yet you can’t even stop looking at me.”

Stubbornly keeping his eyes in the mirror, Charles concentrated on the graze over his left eyebrow. “I deem it more than justified to keep my eye on you, since three weeks ago, you tried to put a bullet in my brain.”

“True.”

Erik took a step back then, pulling on Charles’ poor shoulder, making him turn. The shuffling left them face to face, Charles’ back pressed up against the sink.

They were not close enough to touch, but the sheer intimacy of the position made something in Charles’ throat get stuck. For a moment, it stopped him from breathing. Then it started to slam like an old heat generator, clanging and too loud.

It got even louder when Erik’s eyes raked over him, long and slow, before he took another step, coming closer to stand in-between Charles’ legs. Their thighs were just an inch shy of touching. Charles felt Erik in his space like a taste, his body and mind radiating heat like a furnace. And as it was, Charles’ hijacked mind immediately locked on the memory of that glimpse he’d caught of Erik as he came out of the shower a week ago; strolling out and dropping his towel to the floor before Charles had the chance to look away.

Because, here was the thing with Charles: he was so touch-starved he was on the verge of an implosion.

Usually, he had self-restraint to back him up. It was one of his more impressive traits. But with all the adrenaline rushes and near-death experiences piling up in his brain like car wrecks after an accident, it had thinned. After three months in WITSEC and a drought of almost a year before it, Charles simply couldn't will himself to deny how good it felt to have Erik touch him. That touch, no matter how small, was enough to make heat leak into his bones; the vapor curling behind his eyes and making his head swim.

Willing his racing heart to calm, Charles warily followed Erik’s movements. Leaning forward, their chests so close it was unbearable, Erik wet the torn-off piece of paper under the tap. Bringing his hand back up, he roughly started to wipe away the blood on Charles’ brow with long, broad strokes. With every tour, the side of his hand brushed against the stubble on Charles’ cheek, down  to the open collar of his white shirt, undoing all Charles’ heart-calming work in the span of a second.

Once he was sure he’d beaten obedience into his pulse, Charles said, “It still counts.”

At that, Erik stopped. His eyes never leaving Charles, he tossed the now bloody and soggy patch in the trashcan. With a subdued snitch, the lid snapped shut and Erik leaned in even closer, his damp breath ghosting over Charles’ ear.

“Without me, you wouldn't be here, Xavier. You can delude yourself all you want, but not about that.”

He pulled away. Cold seeped into their shared space and Charles decided – with some help from the cosmic cat lady – that what the hell: two could play that game.

With a quick yank of his wrist, Charles tugged Erik right back in.

Gripping the smooth, worn leather of Erik’s jacket, Charles jutted his chin out. “How am I deluding myself?”

“You tell me,” Erik said, still smiling. Only now, it was something softer, nonetheless dangerous but almost sultry in its execution.

“If I’m deluding myself, it’s a paradox.” He brought his voice down to a whisper as the slamming in his mind got louder. “What am I denying?”

“That _itch_ under your skin, Xaiver.” Erik was so close Charles could see the acne scar on his upper lip. “Isn’t it bothering you?”

“You tell me.”

The air turned to clouds between them, accompanied by the clinking fluorescent lights overhead.

“It is.”

“How do you know?” Charles demanded, his heart speeding up tenfold. The pure, sizzling energy  emitting from Erik was so tense and heady that Charles’ knees weakened.

“It’s easy.”

With a swiftness Charles should have anticipated, Erik then surged forward, erasing that last little sliver of distance between them and –

 

Kissed him.

 

Shocked, Charles let his mouth fall open. Erik immediately preyed on it, pressing his tongue against Charles’, harsh and demanding. The point of contact made Charles light up, crackling like static when Erik’s stubble rasped against his skin, his lips smooth and soft.

It was also all that was soft about it. They went at each other like starved, gasping as teeth clanked and tongues dragged along the inside of lip; as hands scrambled under clothes, reaching for warm skin hidden underneath. The  air was all but vibrating, the sink did vibrate and then Erik finally pressed a lean, strong thigh between his.

Charles bit back a moan, realizing how hard and desperate he actually was. One hand scrambling behind him for leverage, he brought his other one up to cup around Erik’s jaw.  But Erik snatched both of his wrists  and secured them on the edge of the sink with a bone-breaking grip.

“See? Easy.”

Charles shook his head. “Fuck you,” he whispered, chest heaving.

Erik pulled away slightly, his odd-colored eyes locking on Charles’ face. “Wouldn't you love it.”

Charles blinked.

Huffing out a breathless laugh, Erik spun them around. He pushed Charles backwards, slamming through the bathroom door and into the dark room beyond.

Stripes of streetlight were spilling in over the bed, broken only when Charles tumbled onto it, fast and sudden. Erik grinned and crawled in over him like a predator after its prey. Bracing one knee on the bed, he leaned all his weight on his arms, successfully bracketing Charles’ head.

Their breaths mingled like smoke in the freezing room. Outside, the wind had picked up, whining, around the old, shabby building. Erik’s eyebrows were tight, intense as the storm outside, and something about it made Charles’ breath hitch.  

Erik's free hand, busy tearing through the buttons of Charles’ shirt, stopped. “What?”

Shaking his head, Charles grinned. “Nothing.”

Erik narrowed his eyes, but when Charles shook his head again, he went back to his task, hands all but a blur. To counter, Charles leaned up, scraping his teeth along the line of Erik’s throat.  Pleased when he could feel the vibrations of a moan travelling up from deep within Erik’s chest, he fell back again. As soon as Charles’ shirt was flung open, Erik’s powers reached out. Without so much as a twist of his hand, Charles’ belt undid itself, curling onto the floor.

Unthinkingly, Charles tried to reach for the buttons of his fly, only to feel Erik’s hand still his tied hand down into the mattress.

“Thought you liked watching more than doing, Xavier,” he said, sly, and snatched Charles’ other wrist as well, holding them with one hand.

Charles couldn't stop the shudder at the gravel in Erik’s voice. “You’re insufferable,” he panted, letting his arms relax as he watched through hooded eyes how Erik’s face twitched. His pleased look un-winded something in Charles’ stomach he hadn't known was still there.

Closing his eyes, he missed as Erik sat back, grinding his hips down over his crotch with a rolling motion.

Charles bucked his hips up, groaning. He was so depraved of this. Of this heat, this newfound sizzling under his skin that up until now had been dark and empty in a way that only masturbation could leave it, but was now gaining color and blooming, making him whimper over the clanging in his head.

Out of sight, Erik’s boots thumped to the floor. Charles sighed as the button of his fly finally popped open, easing the pressure, before the jeans were pulled down just enough to let Erik pull his cock out of his briefs with an icy hand. He gasped when a thumb pressed against the head and bit his lip when a nail scraped lightly just under the crown. His body twitched, almost making him miss Erik’s quick fox-grin at the reaction.

Having lost his voice to pants and broken heaves of breaths, Charles sent out _do we have_ –

“I've got it. Was a boy scout as kid, and you know what they say,” Erik mumbled against Charles’ collar bone, pushing his own jeans and boxers down in one swift movement.  The satchel – a black one that had miraculously managed to come out unscathed – rattled on the floor, before it spit out a tin that smacked into Erik’s open palm.

“Be prepared.”

Charles almost laughed, but Erik chose that moment to nip at the sensitive spot behind his ear, transforming it to a strangled moan.

Smiling his Chesire-grin, Erik twisted the tin open and coated his fingers in the Vaseline. His eyes bored into Charles’ with an intensity which made them all but pulsate in their sockets as he pushed the two fingers in himself, hard and uncompromising. Charles watched in fascination as Erik’s mouth fell open, his head bowing at the intrusion.

Watching Erik fuck himself on his fingers was one of the most frustrating and enticing thing Charles’ had ever seen. His cock pulsed as Erik’s eyes snapped shut and he started to rock his hips, almost rhythmically restless, panting and moaning as if he knew exactly how it would make the blood all but rush through Charles’ veins. How it would disassemble him, ruin him to the point where he was so gone, he couldn't but buck up against Erik’s thigh in desperation.

That earned him a squeeze on his wrists, and a second later Erik dipped his fingers into the tin again. Between one breath and the next, he’d slicked Charles up.

“You ready?” he smirked and  Charles hadn't time to make any other sound but a bitten of groan before Erik had lined up and pushed himself down with three hard shoves.

“Oh god, _Erik_ –”

Charles’ mouth fell open as he struggled for breath, lit up from the inside like a firework as the smooth, tight heat encircled him completely. Above him, Erik face was a mix of determination and lust.  Yet, it was cracked open in a rare form of vulnerability that only came from being thoroughly opened up. Thin light made sweat glisten at Erik’s temples as he folded the fingers of his non-cuffed hand around Charles wrists as well. Then he started to swing his hips with purposeful vigor, grunting with every shove.

Charles could only lay there, taking everything he was given; watching Erik’s thighs shiver, the fabric of his jeans and underwear stretched tight just below where his impressive hardness jutted out. Over the slick sounds of skin, Erik’s leather jacket creaked with his rhythm, reminding Charles of something dark and dangerous and heady. It was mesmerizing, and Charles could have watched it forever – how Erik slowly came undone at the seams, gasping, clenching and twitching above him.

Bucking his hips up, Charles made Erik tilt to counterbalance. Erik clamped his knees hard around Charles hips, but the motion made him brush up against a sensitive spot inside. He tensed, a shameless moan tearing itself from his throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grunted, lascivious smile loosening but not fading. “Can you feel that?”

“What?” Charles panted, squirming when Erik continued to ride him with a ruthlessness not to be tampered with.

Falling onto his elbows, Erik buried his face in Charles’ neck. “How good you feel inside me,” he breathed, words wet against Charles’ ear.

Moaning in reply, Charles felt helpless and glutted with pleasure. He glanced over Erik’s mind – feeling his own cock stretching Erik open wide, filling him up just perfectly. He turned his head, the smell of leather, sweat and gun powder, of Erik, hitting him like wall. He tugged at his hands again, Erik only countered by holding tighter and to clench down on Charles’ cock in the same movement. Charles groaned, bucking, Erik’s labored breath a deluge in his mind, filling every corner to the brim.

Back bowed like an archway, Erik pulled back as his hips started to lose their rhythm, stuttering . Overcome by an insatiable urge to touch the smooth, golden skin hidden away under that leather jacket, Charles decidedly yanked his hands free and gripped Erik’s hips tight, fingers searching out the blooming heat underneath. Erik’s left hand followed with the tug on the cuff, but he didn’t try to push Charles back. Instead, he just grinned and sped up, every snap of his hips holding purpose even though his thighs were visibly shaking with effort.

The first tense signaling his incoming climax hit Charles like a bat, and making him thrust up particularly hard. Erik almost came to a halt too, and Charles dragged his hand from his hip to grip his cock, thumb pressed hard against the slit.

Erik’s arm, still braced on the bed, tensed  as his whole body shuddered like an earthquake, foundation cracking open as he came; projecting a burst of release and clenching around Charles so tightly there was nothing to be done but let the dominos fall. Charles dug his fingers into Erik’s hips, holding him down to let the double-feed of pleasure flow through him, spinning wildly and cutting off his breath, until he followed with a bitten off moan and bucking hips.

Once Charles’ hands let go, Erik fell off him, letting his long legs dangle off of the bed with one hand thrown over his eyes. Charles swallowed and let his body sink down as much as the thin lumpy mattress allowed. They lay there, side by side, panting and staring into the ceiling, before Charles dared to say,

“I wasn’t deluding myself.”

Erik didn't move for a second. Then he turned his head, mouth (and the list of things Charles wanted to do with that mouth expanded exponentially) curling into a half-smile.

“Why not go for it earlier?” he said, still panting. “You were all but shaking with it.”

Charles frowned. “Well, why didn't you then?”

Erik stretched his arms over his head. “Wasn't my place.”

“But it was now?”

At that, Erik turned his head back, his breath creating clouds in the chill air. “Sometimes you get a head's up. Simple as that,” he mumbled.

The words in themselves weren't special. Still, Charles swallowed and understood perfectly. Through the glow of having your brains fucked out, the reality seemed far away. It was still there, but so easily forgotten in the safety of indoors. It didn't seem like a threat until the moment you turned your head at the right angle and it caught you – barehanded and too lightly dressed to survive even the weakest of attacks.

“Is there anything we can do?

“No,” Erik said, darkly. “You’re supposed to be dead. I’m supposed to be not here. We just gotta get you out to New York in one piece.”

Ignoring the implication, Charles closed his eyes again and let the quiet buzz from the minds in the neighboring rooms wash over him in calming waves. There were couples just turning in for the night, lonely businessmen and women, the occasional prostitute and her john, all thinking about banal, mundane stuff. It wasn't the sort of buzz Charles generally found calming, but amidst the afterglow and the previous adrenaline rush, the superficial normality was enough to calm him down.

In the room next to them, a television turned on. Like most motels, they only provided one channel at a time and any resident could figure out if it was worth the fuzz go up and turn the television on by simply listening through the wall. Charles hadn't done it often, but Erik had grunted at him at their first motel that he would rather claw his eyes out with a dull paperclip than watch anything on ABC, so Charles should turn off the TV immediately if he knew what was good for him.

Now, though, the static sound through the wall spoke of something different. Taking a quick look through the bored escort girl’s eyes, he saw a glimpse of an intro he hadn't seen in a long time.

“Charlie Brown.”

Erik made a non-committal sound, drawing in a deep drag of smoke from his newly lit cigarette.

“ _A_ _Charlie Brown Christmas_?”

“What?” Erik shot back. Where it would've sounded angry or at least annoyed two hours earlier, the word was just tired now.

“They're airing it now. Does every year,” Charles explained.

Erik stilled at that, the smoke coming out of his nose cutting off. “I didn't know.”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Charles asked, curious, as he sent Erik a tentative smile. “Jewish?”

Erik nodded curtly, reaching out to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Not practicing, but yeah.”

“Do you mind if I watch?”

“No. Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, pulling his pants up, but leaving them open. He would have to go to the bathroom in just a few minutes, but he couldn't do it without Erik following him. And for some reason, he really didn't want to miss the little show. He couldn't pin-point the reason, but it sat in his chest like a twig and he knew it wouldn't go away .

Gingerly sitting up on the bed, Charles gave the damned slime a sharp look. It seemed just as unaffected as before, even in the orange light from outside. Erik’s hand was curled loosely, like that on a child. It followed obediently when Charles dragged his hand down the bed cover, hanging limp.

Just as he was about to stand up from the bed and head over to the television, it turned on, presenting him with the ice rink in all its flickering glory. And then there was Charlie Brown, and Linus, skates slung over their shoulders, talking about the commercialism of Christmas. Leaning his elbows on his knees, Charles watched the little musical that he’d watched with Raven during his entire childhood, the familiarity of sprouting leaves on the twig in his chest.

He would probably have lost himself completely in the nostalgia, hadn't it been for the way Erik’s hand hanged over his thigh, index finger twitching slightly.

When it ended, and some commercial that had just been criticized came on, Charles wasn't surprised when the TV flickered off again, leaving the room in the same darkness as before. Turning around, his non-cuffed hand braced on the bed, he leaned in over Erik. Not close enough to be considered a come-hither, but not as distant as he would've been an hour ago.

Erik was staring blankly into the ceiling fan that was spreading the cold air around in the room. He still hadn't pulled up his jeans and Charles took the liberty to stroke his cold fingers over the strip of skin visible between Erik’s shirt and boxers.

Erik twitched again, hand immediately latching around Charles’ wrist.

“I need to go clean up,” Charles said, as if the paranoid reflex hadn't bothered him in the slightest. It really hadn't, or not as much as it would've three weeks ago.

Erik’s eyes flickered towards the television again, his face taking on some sort of emotion that Charles didn't recognize, but wasn't dangerous enough to go looking in Erik’s mind for the answer. Erik nodded, standing up before Charles had even said anything else, and subsequently pulled Charles with him into the closet-sized bathroom.

The lights were still on and with careful twists of his hand, Erik  filled up the bathtub with water.  When the taps shut, it was hot enough to create wisps of steam. To Charles’ chilled body, it looked like paradise.

If it wasn't for the damned slime.

As there were no other options than to go in together, they stripped down under the harsh clinking lights, goose-fleshed and shaking. The bathtub had stains that could be rust or blood, but Charles didn’t care at that moment. He was usually a clean person, to the point where Raven sometimes had called him a germaphobe, but dire times called for dire actions. So when Erik had stripped down, bunching his shirt and jacket on the chain between the cuffs, they slipped into the blessedly hot water.

Charles hissed as warm blood started to press against his tightened capillaries. He could feel Erik's heavy eyes on him, and he closed his eyes to the soothing redness behind his lids.

It didn't matter that they had sex. It didn't matter that it has happened thirty minutes ago and that he could still phantom feel Erik around him. It was still awkward to sit huddled in the same bathtub with your knees up to your chin with another  grown man. Especially when said man was handsome, dangerous (and Charles had an affiliation for dangerous and powerful men that he was not going to discuss at the moment, thank you very much) if a little more trigger happy than the normal citizen.

Avoiding Erik’s scrutinizing gaze, Charles reached for the forgotten shampoo bottle on the edge of the tub. He pressed a dollop into his hand and then started to tangle out the blood out of his hair. He moved his left hand and it followed easily enough to let him rub the shampoo into his scalp. All lathered, he then ducked his head down. Under the surface, the rays of artificial light cut through, distorting everything. Erik’s shins were reduced to blurry shapes of skin right in front of him.

Coming up of the water, he didn't look at Erik's face. The knot Charlie Brown had left in his stomach was still wound tight, but when Erik’s hand came into his vision and tucked a lock of his  washed hair from his eyes, he did look up.

Erik was wearing the same expression as he had when looking at the ceiling fan. Charles swallowed, looking down where the cuffs had dipped into the water a bit.

And then he saw it.

“Erik.”

Erik, who’d been a moment from saying something, closed his mouth again. Then he said, “What, Charles?”

“Look.”

Erik looked down at the cuffs.

By some sort of pre-Christmas miracle - or another cat lady intervention, Charles would never know  - the warmth of the water had started to melt the slime. Not enough to make them liquid, but more than enough to make them adapt a rubbery, more forgiving quality.

Breath in his throat, Charles grabbed the now loosened slime. It was flabby and soft, providing no resistance. He shaped his hand into a cone, tightening his fingers and then, gently, started easing it out of the previously hold.

With a yank, it slipped free with a sloppy sound and for a moment, Charles just stared as his bruised and battered, but likewise free, wrist with a sense of wonder he hadn't felt since the moment he discovered his own abilities. It was a sense of freedom and liberty that lit him up in the same way Erik’s orgasm had.

Erik just stared at the black slime with a dumbfounded look that suited him very poorly.

"How...?”

“It might be polar or something,” Charles said distantly, looking at the rubbery slime now floating around in water. In a few minutes, it, it would have finished dissolving. “Do you know what it is?”

“I don’t know,” Erik said. “I had no idea her slime would turn like this by a bit of water.”

“They probably didn’t think anyone would get away. Or this far,” Charles filled in.

Erik smiled weakly.“Probably not.”

They stared at the dissolving cuffs for a moment more, before they locked eyes with each other. Erik’s jaw ticked once, twice before his mind lit up. It glowed like a fairy lights and that light filled up Charles’ mind until there was no darkness left, not even in the darkest corners of his bitterness and longing.

He felt his own smile widen, and then they were both laughing, hysterically.

Coming down from the rush, they clambered out of the tub. They found a pair of towels in a cabinet near the door, and after drying off, they decided to try and  wash some of the dirty clothes. Charles’ white button-down was bloody almost to the point where it was more like blood-cake armor than a shirt, so he put it in the still warm water together with some of the soap from the sink. In went also Erik’s t-shirt, but the bloodstain on his leather jacket stayed.

After dumping everything that should be washed in the bathtub, they headed back out into the bedroom, which was even chillier than before the bath. Now, Charles was warmed up from the inside, and no matter how cold the world got, he’d survive it, because he had a fire banked his stomach.

On steady feet, he marched over to the single bed, pulled back the covers and crawled down beneath them.

He could feel Erik’s eyes on his back, staring. But then, quiet as sin, his bare feet moved over the carpeted floor too and then he was lying down behind Charles, his feet like metaphorical blocks of ice against Charles’ calves. He felt a folded arm press between his shoulder blades, but soon enough it unfolded and curled around his waist, pulling him close.

Erik’s rushed breath came down his neck and Charles turned his head slightly when something akin to a word projected from Erik’s mind.

“What?” Charles asked into the void of orange-tinted darkness around them.

“Happy holidays,” Erik whispered, his smile wide but somewhat somber against Charles' neck.

Charles smiled too, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “Happy holidays, Erik.”

Around them, the room was still cold, but with their body heat, they would warm up soon enough.


End file.
